iPromise
by Adrianna Rhode
Summary: When Sam and Freddie survive a disaster at school together, they see a new side of each other. Three-shot.
1. Part 1

A/N: iCarly is my original fandom. I would never have discovered the joys of FanFiction and of being a fangirl without it. So, here's a brand-new iCarly fic for you! I was inspired by some of my favorite shows; those random survival-story programs on Biography Channel and Animal Planet. Enjoy!

I just wanted to point out that this story is about just a single afternoon. It has a lot of detail and it moves kinda slowly. So if that bugs you, go away. Also, this takes place outside of the TV show plot. There is no 'iKiss' or 'iSaved Your Life' or 'iOMG' or any of those Seddie or Creddie bits. Make sense? Go ahead and read.

)()()()()()()()()(

"Mr. Benson! I would appreciate it if you paid attention in my class. It's not like it would kill you."

I jerked upward, my head lifting from its resting position on my desk. I had been dozing off for the past fifteen minutes, and it appeared that Mr. May had finally noticed.

"Sorry," I murmured, running a hand through my mussed hair.

The math teacher only shook his head disapprovingly. I glanced around the room as he walked away from my desk. I could see Sam looking at me, a smirk on her face. She was probably enjoying herself, watching me get chewed out for the first time this semester. My annoyance spiked, and I was just about to call her out when the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

I grabbed my notebook, shoved it into my old blue backpack, and took off. I had a long walk across campus to my English class.

"Hey, Mr. Benson." I turned around to see Sam, her bag slung over one shoulder and the signature smirk still on her face.

"What's up?" I replied patiently.

"You gotta get yourself under control, there. What would your mother say if she knew you weren't paying attention in class?" Sam said, putting a hand to her forehead in mock disbelief.

"I keep telling you, Puckett, I'm one-hundred-percent bad boy," I deadpanned.

"Uh huh. And I'm an honor student," Sam rolled her eyes at me, but fell silent much more quickly than usual.

We walked in that unusual silence for a few moments, side by side but not necessarily together. That was the very definition of Sam and me. We spent hours upon hours together, but only as Carly's best friends. Given our way, we probably wouldn't even speak.

Even so, Sam's behavior was starting to worry me. She loved to talk, even if it she was talking to me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, trying to carefully balance my tones of curiosity and concern with indifference.

Sam, much to my surprise, just sighed, "I don't know. I just feel like…there's something wrong today. Something big. You know what I mean?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"I feel like something is going to happen. I don't know what, but it feels bad," Sam persisted.

I bit back a laugh, "What, are you psychic now, Puckett?"

"If there's one thing I've learned in life, Benson, it's to trust my gut instinct. And my gut says that today is gonna be bad," she retorted.

I didn't press the matter any further. Sam meandered along beside me, back to her silence. When we reached Mr. Mitchell's English class, I went right inside and took my usual front-row seat. Sam, on the other hand, stayed outside the doorway. She refused to come inside until Carly arrived. I greeted the two girls with a smile, which only Carly returned.

"What's wrong with Sam? She looks pouty," Carly commented as she passed.

"She just has a weird feeling about today. I don't really understand it," I replied. Carly shrugged.

The girls took seats in the back row of the class, near the second door to the hallway. Slowly, the class filled in, until everyone had taken a seat. Mr. Mitchell was the last one to come in.

"Okay, okay, settle down, guys," he said, eyes traveling over the class.

We quieted ourselves. Mr. Mitchell rifled through papers on his desk, looking for the day's lesson plan. As we waited for him to begin, a very faint noise began to permeate the room. I decided that while I did hear shouting voices, they must be a gym class outside. But the voices got louder. With a jolt, I realized that the voices were screaming – not fake movie screams, but real primal screams of panic.

"What in the world…" Mr. Mitchell muttered, pulling back the blinds so he could look out the window beside his desk. All of the other windows were covered.

When the teacher turned back to the class, all the blood had drained from his face. The screaming had increased dramatically. It now seemed to be coming from everywhere at once; far away across campus as well as right down the hall.

"Mr. Mitchell! What's happening?" I asked urgently.

He looked at me as if just realizing I was there. He cleared his throat. Though his face was still ghostly pale, Mr. Mitchell's words were eerily calm.

"Students, we have an emergency on our hands. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I think…I hope I'm wrong…I think this might be our last meeting as a class," the teacher spoke slowly.

I could hear Sam whispering to Carly urgently, "I hear footsteps. What's-"

CRASH!

The door at the back of the classroom burst open. Several girls in the back row screamed; I could identify Carly's voice among them. Then came a noise I had only ever heard in movies and on television. The room was full of gunshots.

)()()(

My eyes flew open, my chest heaving in and out as I gulped down air. My mind was racing a million miles a second, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then it hit me. The classroom. The gunshots. We had just been in a school shooting.

I realized that I was on the floor. I lay flat on my back, my arms pulled up to my stomach. I also realized that I had been unconscious. I didn't know how long I had been out. It could've been hours. Finally, I got the sense to look at my watch. But as my eyes travelled down to wrist, a wave of fresh panic and nausea crashed over me.

My arms, legs and torso were a mess of blood, drying and newly flowing.

I had been shot.

But I was alive. I didn't know if anybody else was. As I calmed down, I made out the sounds of screams and groans from other classrooms. Several voices were moaning softly in our classroom, and I instantly assumed the worst: people were dying.

Somehow, I got the strength and stamina to sit up. Both of my arms were bleeding freely. There was one wound on my right arm, on the palm. It looked as though I'd been hit by shrapnel rather than a gunshot. I had two deep cuts on my left arm. As far as I could tell, a bullet totally fractured my elbow, because I could barely move my arm. I was also bleeding pretty badly from my shoulder. And my thigh was a mess. I didn't look at it long enough to find out what was wrong.

Once I had taken inventory of myself, I looked around the room. I wanted to throw up right then and there.

The first thing I saw was Mr. Mitchell. He was slumped over his desk, a thin trickle of blood running down his temple. I couldn't see his face, but it was so painfully obvious that he was dead. I swallowed hard, willing myself to look away and find out who else was okay…well, who else was alive.

I could see members of our class on the floor. Everyone, absolutely everyone, was on the floor. They looked as though they had been thrown there, as haphazardly as a child's discarded dolls. My conscience told me that they were probably in much worse condition than I was. Suddenly, a movement caught my eye. Someone else sat up.

"F-Freddie?" a voice whispered tentatively.

"Sam?" I whispered back.

"Oh my God, Freddie, are you okay?" Sam asked. Her voice was shaking so much, I could barely recognize it.

"Sort of. But that's not important. How are you?" I said, forcing myself to stay calm.

"I'm okay. I got h-hit in the calf, I'm bleeding pretty b-bad. But…" Sam hesitated, and I could hear her breathing get shallower.

Despite the situation, I was extremely impressed with Sam's ability to grasp the situation so clearly. She knew exactly what had happened, and she knew what it meant for us.

"What is it?" I asked sharply.

When Sam replied, I could tell she was really crying hard. "Oh, Freddie, I think…I-I think…Carly…Freddie, Carly's dead."

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN. Drama enough for you? Click on ahead for Part 2.


	2. Part 2

A/N: Nothing to see here, just Part 2 =)

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My mind was blank. I'd heard what Sam said, but the words didn't register.

"What did you say?" I asked, my voice now shaking as hard as hers.

"Carly's dead," Sam whispered.

"That's impossible," I insisted, glancing at Sam nervously.

Sam's voice got stronger, "Then come over here and see for yourself, Benson."

I decided to obey. Carefully, carefully, I put all of my weight onto my uninjured right leg. I managed to crawl along on one leg and one arm, until I reached Sam at the back of the class. I tried not to look at the bodies as I passed. But I saw the faces of several people whom I'd known for years, and it made my nausea all the worse. Then I saw Carly.

She was spread-eagled on the floor beside Sam, looking surprisingly peaceful considering how she'd gone. There was a single wound, right over her heart. Sam must've done a little post-mortem cleanup, because there was barely and blood. In all appearances, Carly had gotten tired and laid down to sleep.

"Carly…" I choked, looking from her lifeless pale face to Sam's tearstained one.

"I told you," sobbed Sam, refusing to meet my eyes.

I couldn't help it. The tears started pouring down my cheeks with a ferocity I'd never experienced. This was the ultimate loss. This was the worst day in any of our lives, and Carly was gone. My heart was broken, and I could only imagine how Sam felt. Carly was her best friend, her family. I wasn't sure what to say, what to do.

So Sam did something, instead of leaving it to me to act. Teeth clenched from the pain of moving her injured leg, she scooted closer to me. Before I knew what was happening, she'd flung her arms around my neck, crying breathlessly. I just stared down at her. Sam didn't cry…and even if she did, she NEVER used me for comfort. Even so, this was obviously one broken girl. I rubbed small circles on her back with my fingertips, letting her do as she pleased.

But moment later, I heard something. Voices, in the hallway.

"That's every classroom in this building. Come on, we still have another wing," a sharp male voice directed.

"On it," wheezed another male voice.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and I heard the doors at the end of the building open, then slam shut.

"Those must've been the gunmen," I whispered, more to myself than to the still-hysterical Sam.

I didn't recognize either one of the voices. But I memorized them quickly. Obviously, they thought they'd satisfactorily killed or wounded everyone in this building. They were moving on to another building to keep up their horror work.

I realized pretty quickly what we had to do.

"Sam," I said softly, "Sam, we need to go."

"Go?" she asked, pulling away from me.

I nodded, "We can't just wait around for those guys to come back and finish us off. We need to get help."

"Just call 911. They'll be here fast," Sam said, rubbing her eyes, trying to pretend she hadn't just cried into my shoulder.

"I don't think that's enough time. We have to get to safety," I said.

"How? We both have busted legs, and if those goons catch us, we're even more dead than we are now," Sam said, the bite back in her voice.

I rubbed my temples, "I'm not sure. But we have to get out of here."

Sam bit her lip, but nodded, "Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure…"

Holding onto a desk with my bleeding palm, I pulled myself to my feet. My thigh throbbed, but it held my weight. I took a careful step. It was painful, but it was possible. I was focused on not falling on my face as I walked some more, but I saw Sam get to her feet, too. She made better progress than I did. Walking slowly, she made her way to the window.

"They're out there, Freddie. They're going into the science wing," Sam said, looking at me, eyes wide.

"Then we have time to make a run for it," I said, heading to the door.

"Okay. But Freddie?"

"Yeah?" I turned to look at her.

"Promise me we'll be okay."

I stared at Sam like I'd never met her before. She wanted my reassurance? She usually cursed my existence. What a change this last hour had brought upon her.

"Okay, Sam," I said finally.

She looked at me with big doe eyes, as fearful as a child.

I took her hand, "I promise that we'll be okay. We'll get help, we'll go to the hospital, get fixed up, and send someone back for Carly once those gun-wielding sons of bitches are locked up."

Sam nodded. I took a deep breath, and opened the door. The hallway was deserted. All of the classroom doors were shut. We walked outside on shaky legs, hoping with all of our might that we wouldn't fall. The doors at the end of the hall seemed a million miles away, but by some miracle, we reached them. I was so grateful that the classroom doors were all shut; I don't know that I could've handled seeing any more bodies.

I knew I had to lead our procession. Sam couldn't be the strong one anymore, and that scared me. I was the tech stooge, not the adventurer. But someone had to make sure Sam was okay, and that responsibility used to belong to Carly. Now I had to step up.

"Let's go, quick, while it's safe," I said hurriedly, looking through the windows on the door.

I opened the door, and we slipped outside. It would take about ten minutes at our injured pace to get to the front office, where we could go out the doors to the street. I led the way, and as we toddled along, Sam grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together. Admittedly, I was glad. The gesture helped me know that we were in this together.

"Freddie, do you have your phone on you?" Sam asked, about a minute after we started out.

"Yeah," I said, surprised, "Why?"

"Do you think you could call 911? Just in case we need them, you know, sooner than we do now?" she asked quietly.

"Um, yeah, but after that we should stop talking. They'll hear us," I warned.

"Okay."

I dialed 911 on my PearPhone, and waited as it rang. Finally, a female voice spoke to me.

"Hello, you've reached 911 emergency response. Please state the nature of your emergency."

"Um, hi, I'm Freddie Benson. I'm at Ridgeway High School in southwest Seattle, and I've just been in a school shooting," I said, the words tripping over each other in their rush to be spoken.

"A school shooting? Okay, where are you exactly? Is anyone with you? Can you move?" the woman asked calmly.

"I'm in the English wing," I lied, "My friend Samantha Puckett and I are together, waiting."

"The surrounding area isn't secured, am I correct?" the woman asked.

"No, it's not."

"Are you injured?"

"I have multiple gunshot wounds, and my friend has one."

"Police and medical responders are on their way, Mr. Benson. Do you want me to stay on the line?"

"No, thank you," I said, "I'll call you again if they come back."

"Help is coming, Mr. Benson. Goodbye."

I decided not to tell the 911 operator that Sam and I were trying to escape. I assumed that she would not appreciate the danger we were facing.

"Help is coming, Sam," I whispered, turning around to look at her for the first time since we started walking.

Sam's face was screwed up in pain. Her leg wound was obviously giving her trouble. I couldn't say that I felt very well, either. My body was coming out of shock, and both my arms and my leg were throbbing hard.

"Great. How much farther?" she asked, breathing heavily.

"Only a few more minutes," I estimated, squinting ahead.

I noticed for the first time that there were gunshots in the background. Those two men must've been continuing their work in the science wing. I closed my eyes in pain, both physical and mental. That was my mistake.

When I closed my eyes, I caught my injured leg on an uneven spot of pavement. I lost my balance, and crashed to the ground.

"Freddie!" Sam squeaked, somewhere above me.

"I'm fine," I gasped. The wind had been knocked out of me. "But I don't think I can get up."

"I'll help you," Sam said.

"You can't. Keep going," I argued.

"I can't just leave you here a-" Sam began, but stopped, the little color left draining from her face.

After a few seconds, I realized why she'd gone silent. The gunshots had stopped. That meant that the gunmen would be coming out of the building soon. We were completely vulnerable, and already mortally wounded.

"Sam, get out of here. You need to get help," I urged, my voice a spooky calm.

Sam shook her head, "I won't leave you."

"You have to. Do you wanna end up like Carly? I'll take care of myself. Just go!" I ordered.

Sam closed her eyes as she spoke, tears seeping from under her lashes, "No. I already lost Carly. I won't lose you, too."

"If you stay, you will die," I glared at her.

"Then I'll die with you," she said, her words slow and deliberate.

I took a deep breath, "Nobody else is dying today. Not us."

Footsteps. Someone was coming up behind us. I closed my eyes, prepared for the peppering of bullets that would end my life. But then the person spoke.

"Sam? Freddie? Oh my God, are you okay?"

Sam gasped, "Gibby! Gibby, oh my God, I am so glad you see you! Please help us. Please. Freddie can't get up."

"They got you, didn't they?" Gibby asked grimly.

He picked me up lightly and held my around the shoulder, keeping me upright. We began to speedwalk away, Sam keeping pace beside me.

"Why…why are you okay?" Sam asked Gibby.

"I was in the bathroom when they came to the science wing. I saw them pass by, and I guessed what they'd been doing. I heard the gunshots when they were in another building," he explained.

"And they never got you," I murmured.

Gibby nodded, "Yup. I didn't think anyone got out."

"We did," Sam replied.

"I see that. Wait…where's Carly?" Gibby asked, looking around.

Sam hung her head. I looked up at Gibby, my eyes telling him everything.

"Oh…" He swallowed hard, and didn't speak anymore until we reached the office.

It took a few moments of fumbling with the door handle, but Sam managed to let us into the office. All of the secretaries, the nurse, the counselors; they were all dead. Slumped over desks like some kind of morbid office party scene.

Then, the most welcome sound I'd ever heard. Sirens.

"I'll go get them," Gibby said, "You guys wait here, okay?"

Gibby set me against a wall, where I sat, ready to never move again. Sam slumped down beside me, her head leaning on my shoulder.

"We're okay, Sam," I said weakly, reaching up to stroke her cheek with my thumb, "I promised you, and we're okay."

That was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out.

A/N: Just one more part. Click on ahead.


	3. Part 3

A/N: Part 3 here!

)()()()()()()()()(

I woke up in a hospital bed a day later.

There was an IV in my arm, a heart monitor beside my bed, and so many casts and bandages on my limbs, I couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. Every memory from the last day at school was fresh in my mind. My first thought was about my mother; what did she think? My second was about Sam.

SAM! It was like an electric shock. I'd obviously made it to the hospital. So where was Sam?

I sat up slightly. There was a short, red-haired nurse standing in the room, with her back to me.

"Um, excuse me?" I called.

She turned around, smiling, "Well, well. He's awake. What can I do for you, honey?"

"This might be an odd question, but was there a girl who was admitted into this hospital with me?" I asked, wincing as I waited for the answer.

"Oh, yes. The young man who brought the paramedics to you said you might ask about her," the nurse nodded, "Miss…Puckett…is in the room next door."

I sighed in relief. Sam was okay. With that small weight lifted off my shoulders, I fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

)(Five Hours Later)(

"Freddie…Fredd-o? Yo, Fredward, wake up!"

I was vaguely aware of someone calling my name. I had really been enjoying my sleep, and I was annoyed.

"What is it?" I asked groggily.

"Oh, he lives! He lives!" laughed a girl's voice.

My eyes opened. Sam sat at the side of my bed in a wheelchair. She waved at me as I sat up.

"Nice cast," I observed, glancing at her leg, which was enveloped in a bright-red plaster cast.

"Likewise," she replied, looking at my own blue leg cast.

"Look, Sam…I'm so sorry about everything that happened at school…" I said softly.

She closed her eyes for a moment, "It's not your fault that any of it happened, Freddie. And anyway, I totally wasn't myself. It was disgusting. I felt so…vulnerable…without, without Carly, and I just…"

"It's okay to be sad, Sam. You were sad. You just needed some help," I murmured.

"Thanks…for everything. I mean it. I don't think I would've made it without you," said Sam.

"Of course you would've," I said lightly.

"Freddie…the doctor told me that walking on my leg shifted the splintered bone a little. If I had just sat still, it would've punctured my artery. I would've bled out," Sam whispered, tears threatening to well in her eyes.

I just sat there. "Wow…um…"

"So you saved me," she said simply.

"That's what friends do," I said, smiling at her hopefully.

In spite of herself, Sam smiled, "Yeah, I guess. But…Freddie?"

"What?"

Sam picked herself up carefully, not putting any weight on her bad leg. She sat down on my hospital bed, and turned to face me.

"I mean it. Thank you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome," I replied.

Sam moved slightly. She was shifting toward me. Her eyes were trained on mine, and next thing I knew, her lips were on mine.

That kiss might've lasted an hour. It might've lasted several sunlit days and nights. It might've only been a couple seconds. But it felt like forever.

"I love you, Freddie."

There were no words. I looked at Sam, who had a tear running down her cheek.

"If there's one thing I learned yesterday, it was to make every moment count," she explained in a whisper, "The last thing I said to Carly was that I loved her. We were passing notes when the gunmen came in, and that's what I had just written. It was probably the last thing she saw. Then, when we were going across campus, and you said for me to leave you behind…I couldn't. I knew I'd stay with you. I knew I loved you, too, Freddie. I couldn't lose you both on one day."

"Sam," I whispered in reply, "It's all over now. Carly is okay where she is, and I'm okay here. Alright? I'm here with you."

"Promise?" asked Sam, that doe-eyed, childlike trust back in her voice.

"I promise."

A/N: Okay, did you like it? Please, please PLEASE review! I wanna know if anyone liked this kind of writing. 'Til next time, darlings!


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